


She Thinks You Love the Beach

by ennta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-11-30 18:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11469093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennta/pseuds/ennta
Summary: Sometimes it's easier to leave things behind, and sometimes the things you leave behind come back to you. While revisiting his past, Renly realizes he may have to rethink his future; and the fault lies, as it usually does, with Loras Tyrell.





	1. Seeing You Down Every Road

**CHAPTER ONE // SEEING YOU DOWN EVERY ROAD**

 

Summer lies heavy over Greenstone; storm clouds hover on the horizon, blocking the sunset, and the tops of the clouds bleed into the coming night. The wind has picked up, swirling unsteadily in one direction and then another, tipsy in the heat. It’s just another July, same as ever, the hoarse grumble of thunder following the sharp tongues of lightning, promising a reprieve, mumbling that perhaps the temperature might dip below ninety for a bit.

Renly runs his fingers through his hair as he drives down Greenstone’s main highway. His air conditioning had given out halfway through the drive, and he’s stuck to the driver’s seat, his head nearly out the window as he searches for the breeze. Something about the discomfort of a summer night cements his return to town; far behind him are the mountains and majestic forests and cool nights he's become accustomed to.

But Renly is back in Greenstone now, back in the land of gravel back roads and dirt trails, of broken window units and nights on a twin bed with three fans helping him sleep. He groans as he takes the road that will lead him to Grandpa Estermont’s long dirt driveway. He doubts Grandpa ever replaced that old window unit, which will make for a very uncomfortable few months.

Grandpa Estermont’s house is as modest as Renly remembers, just a long rectangle with a wide front porch and wooden siding peeling with age. Everything around the house is green: the lawn, slightly overgrown; the trees, whose heavy branches brush against the rooftop; the expanse of woods just beyond the large backyard. It’s an insular place, another world, and suddenly the years that Renly has been away evaporate.

By the time Renly parks in the small gravel driveway, next to Grandpa’s old truck--rusted out, abandoned now that Grandpa’s gone--he’s just a high school kid pulling in after curfew, tipsy on warm beer and weekend freedom, on kisses behind the treeline that he’ll mull over in bed. 

Renly slams the car door shut and startles back to the present, a smile on his face. He slings one duffel bag over his shoulder and pulls a large suitcase from the trunk, fiddling with his keys to make sure he has the one for the front door. Cicadas sing around him, and the first few fat drops of rain begin to fall as Renly reaches the porch.

He jiggles the key in the lock until the door opens, and the light switch is right where he remembers it: to the left of the door frame, close enough to reach out and flip without stumbling any further into the dark interior. The lights flicker to life, illuminating the staid living room with its old but economical furniture, and now Renly is standing on a threadbare carpet he hasn’t set foot on since his junior year of high school.

Renly shuts the door but doesn’t bother to lock it. No one in Greenstone has ever locked their doors, and Renly doesn’t feel like starting now. He sits on the sofa under a wall of windows, noting the way the old cushions dip in the middle under his weight, and takes his phone from his pocket. He’s supposed to check in with Brienne, but the service is spotty, and she seems as far away as Greenstone had just eight hours ago.

Renly had only lived with Grandpa Estermont for two years, and only because his tenuous family life--such as it was--had been thrown into turmoil when his older brothers left for college and their guardian, Cressen, died suddenly of a heart attack. With Stannis and Robert out of the picture and Renly barely sixteen, arrangements had been made for Renly to stay with his maternal grandfather--a man Renly knew from pictures but had never met.

Grandpa Estermont had a gun rack and a liquor cabinet full of nothing but whiskey. He had scared Renly at first, but on Renly’s first night in Greenstone, the old man had broken down and apologized for a wealth of things Renly had no idea he could forgive the man for.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you boys,” he’d said around a bottle of Jack Daniels. He’d let Renly have a glass, and between the alcohol and the heat, Renly had felt both scared and ridiculously brave. “I blamed your dad, for taking your mom away from me. Blamed him for the car crash. Saw him in you and Bob and Stan. Couldn’t handle it.”

Renly had his mother’s eyes, Grandpa Estermont said, and the next morning they settled into the companionable existence that would mark the next two years of Renly's life.

Renly smiles down at the carpet, at its faded green and white floral patterns, before propping himself on his knees on the couch and opening the windows behind him to get a breeze moving through the stuffy house. The fatigue that had overtaken him for the last hour of his drive fades as the thunder increases in intensity until Renly thinks he can feel it in his blood. He’s grinning when he steps out onto the front porch, grinning into the storm, laughing into the rain. 

For all that this place, this house, this town no longer fit into the future Renly is building, right now he feels more at peace with himself than he has in a very long time.

***

The rain pounds the roof of Renly’s car as he guides it back into town, through the few intersections, past the bank and the library and two churches he doesn’t remember. He grins when he sees his target: the Green Rider, rain sizzling off the neon sign that marks the parking lot entrance. When Renly was in high school, he had dreamed of walking into this bar and ordering a drink, of playing pool in the smoke-filled backroom. A dream Renly usually looks back on with disdain; after all, his friends held bonfire parties on their parents’ farmland every weekend, and there was never any shortage of alcohol.

Still, the bar beckons, and Renly ducks inside, out of the rain. He’s a little disappointed as he gets his bearings, and he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised; the things we idolize in adolescence rarely hold the same shine as we grow into adulthood. The Green Rider is small, the ubiquitous wood paneling coating every wall an obvious holdover from the seventies; hooded lights emblazoned with Bud Light and Coors logos hang overhead, doing little the illuminate the gloom. Renly pauses to take it all in: the dark, heavy bar and the older woman in flannel and high-waisted jeans working behind it; the overweight men taking up three of the four barstools, their gazes fixed on the small wall-mounted flatscreen tuned to ESPN; the gaggle of middle-aged men clustered around the dilapidated pool table, sipping their beers and talking rather than playing.

“You want something, honey?” the bartender asks, nodding at Renly. He recognizes her now; it’s Beth, a factory worker who used to help Grandpa Estermont with yard work when his bad leg was too much of a bother. Renly takes the remaining empty barstool at the end of the bar and fixes Beth with his most charming smile.

“Beth, right?” he asks, and when she raises a skeptical eyebrow, he adds, “I’m Renly. Renly Baratheon. Used to live over at Errol’s place--”

Beth shakes her head, a slow smile of recognition revealing a distinctive overbite. “Well, holy shit, Renly Baratheon.” She throws a towel down on the bar between them and cocks her head. “Haven’t you grown?”

“A little,” Renly laughs. He’s a good foot taller than he’d been in junior year, and he supposes his five o'clock shadow and mussed ponytail make him look quite a bit different, too. “How’ve you been, Beth?”

Beth turns around and pours Renly a drink, resting it on a napkin in front of him before she answers. “Been better,” she admits. “Factory left about three years ago; took this place off Geoff’s hands when his family got outta Dodge.” She narrows her eyes at Renly, though her smile remains friendly. “Family’s important around here.”

Renly takes a sip of his drink and winces. It’s sour and tangy, exactly the sort of thing he used to love when he got any choice over what alcoholic beverages he could consume. Beth sees his face and laughs.

“Guyard always said you liked the sweet stuff,” she explains. “That’s -- let’s see, that’s Kinky and Sprite, with just a bit of that green apple Schnapps you supposedly poured in everything.”

Renly blushes. “Didn’t realize you’d remember so much about my drinking habits.” He takes another sip to be polite.

Beth’s smile turns fond. “You were a good kid, Renly. We were sad to see you leave. We were sad you couldn’t be here to see Errol off.”

Best to get this over with, Renly thinks. “Stannis tells me no one called until after the funeral. No one called until we found out we were supposed to sell the house.” He studies the drink in his hand, then meets Beth’s eyes. “I would’ve been here, Beth. I wish I’d been here.”

Beth nods. She uses her dish towel to wipe up a nonexistent spill on the counter, then tosses it over her shoulder. “I know you do, kid. Is that why you’re in town? Getting things sorted out with the house?”

Renly nods and finishes his drink. It tastes as sweet and green as the cloying atmosphere that shelters Greenstone. “I thought I’d come back for the summer. See how things have changed. Maybe unwind a little. Any of Guyard’s crew still running around down here?”

That makes Beth pause, and for the first time in their conversation, she looks a bit puzzled. “Surely you’re still in touch with Loras, at least?” 

The name hits Renly like a lightning bolt, and he forgets to breathe as a particularly angry clap of thunder makes the room shake. Loras. Renly has spent a very long time relegating Loras to his past; after all, two years in a town Renly thought he’d never see again didn’t seem all that significant with the future bearing down all around him.

“Is, uh ...” Renly’s voice falters and Beth places another drink in front of him. This time, it’s whiskey. Renly takes a gulp that makes his throat burn, then stares at the bar as he forces himself to ask, “Is he--is he still around, then?”

Beth doesn't seem impressed. “His family’s back for the summer. They sold the farm, but they’ve still got a vacation house on the lake.” 

Renly nods. “That’s, uh, that’s nice,” he finally manages. 

“He’ll be at Guyard’s bonfire tomorrow night,” Beth prompts after a moment. “If, you know, you wanted to come out and get caught up with the guys.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Renly downs the rest of his drink and pushes off the bar stool. He needs to leave. He needs to leave right now, to drive back to his safe, quiet house, where he can be alone with whatever demons Greenstone wants to stir up. He tips Beth generously, and then he’s back outside, and the rain seems colder, the night darker, the storm suddenly oppressive rather than thrilling.

Renly had hoped Loras wouldn’t factor into this summer. So much had happened between them, so much that Renly has yet to fully process, so much firmly buried to prevent Renly from ever trying to process it. Renly sighs as he drives, his fingers tapping the dashboard to a country song playing low on the radio, his head buzzing as a reminder that he probably shouldn't be behind the wheel of a car. Greenstone is tenacious, and that tenacity permeates its residents; Greenstone drags everything back up, eventually. Even Loras Tyrell.

***

Across town, Loras Tyrell stares accusingly at the canvas in front of him; it’s long past midnight, and though the storm still rages outside, Loras can’t quite capture it in paint. Storms in Greenstone are feelings, tension, promises, threats; they are abstractions Loras tries to capture in greys and violets, only to find the truth of it all impossible to pin down. Sighing, he gives up, washing his brushes and his hands and leaving his studio, padding quietly down to hallway to his room.

Before he gets there, he notices that the lights in the foyer are still on; frowning, Loras walks downstairs, surprised to find his brother Garlan and his father Mace standing just inside the threshold, their boots muddy, their clothing soaked through.

“Where have you been?” Loras asks, sounding enough like his mother that he grimaces.

Garlan laughs as he pulls his shirt off over his head and wrings it out all over the hardwood floor. “Tree fell over at Beth’s. Had to help her and Guyard get it off the chicken coop.”

“Poor old Beth,” Mace sighs. “I told her I’d help her buy a sturdier coop if she needed one, but--”

“Dad, her grandpa made that one. It’s been in her family since, like, the Great Depression.” Garlan turns and raises an eyebrow at Loras. “And you’re still up because …?”

“Painting, dumbass.” Loras is pretty sure there’s still a spot of paint on his forehead, and maybe some in his hair, and Garlan’s grin confirms it. 

“Well, boys, I’m off to shower and get out of these clothes,” Mace huffs, heading for the master bedroom at the back of the house. Loras is briefly offended that Garlan chose their bumbling, overweight father to accompany him to Beth’s, when Loras would have been better suited to removing trees from roofs. Loras turns back to Garlan, about to let him have it, but Garlan is looking at him strangely.

“So,” Garlan begins, his voice suddenly guarded, “Beth told me she saw an old friend down at the Green Rider tonight.”

Loras snorts. “Olyvar? I wasn’t fucking around with that restraining order.”

“Possibly worse,” Garlan corrects him, slinging his wet shirt over one shoulder. “It’s, uh, Renly. Renly Baratheon.”

Loras freezes. His heart doesn’t know how to react; there’s the expected swell of anger, yes, muted by the years but still there. And then a soft note of longing, one he’s tried unsuccessfully to quash for years. Renly Baratheon. Loras smiles and shakes his head, then looks up to find Garlan watching him expectantly.

“So what?” Loras manages. _Renly_. Warm, gentle Renly, with his wide smiles and non-stop laughter; Renly, who had made every day brighter, who had unknowingly turned Loras into a pining mess for much of high school. Renly, who left without a word.

Garlan’s face is apologetic. “Beth said she invited him to Guyard’s party tomorrow night. Just thought I’d warn you.” As he passes Loras to get to the kitchen, he laughs, but it’s forced. “If you do go, just -- promise me you won’t kill him.”

Loras stares down at his bare feet on the cold floor and crosses his arms over his chest. “I won’t,” he mutters. But he swears he can feel Renly’s presence now, swears the air has changed in subtle ways that only Loras can sense. He still dreams about Renly sometimes, and every time he wakes up, he hates himself for the bittersweet longing those dreams engender. Renly used to say he believed in fate and soulmates and silly Disney resolutions; Loras had always laughed at him, but now, years later, Renly is still Loras’ burden, and Loras--well, he’s not sure he was ever anything to Renly after all.

⚘


	2. My Hips Have Missed Your Hips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't take long for Renly to be confronted with everything he was hoping to avoid.

**CHAPTER TWO // MY HIPS HAVE MISSED YOUR HIPS**

It’s noon when Renly finally stirs, the sunlight as harsh through the curtains as the lightning had been the night before. The storms have evaporated, leaving only a sticky, humid film on the landscape in their wake. Renly tries to squeeze his eyes shut and fall back into his dreams, but the heat settling over his room like a shroud makes it impossible. He makes yet another a mental note to see about buying a new air conditioner as he sits up in bed and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

Renly blinks as he gets a good look at his old room in the unforgiving daylight. Across from the small bed with its sheets that smell of discount detergent and neglect, there’s the antique dresser where Renly had kept his carefully-curated collection of skinny jeans, and his equally carefully-curated stash of porn, just in case Grandpa Estermont’s spotty WiFi went out. (It frequently did.) Set into one wall is the closet that hadn’t been nearly large enough for the rest of Renly’s wardrobe; he had fancied himself a fashionista even then, with a pair of Converse for nearly every outfit. 

Renly feels a pang as he opens the closet, the empty rows of hangers sad and lonely, dust gathering on them and on the shelf just above where Renly had kept his shoes. Seeing his past overrun by mothballs and time leaves a strange weight in Renly’s chest, as though, despite the deep connection he feels to this place, he was never more than a ghost passing through.

Renly wonders if Grandpa Estermont missed him. Renly had missed Grandpa Estermont and Greenstone in fits and starts for several months after returning to his brother Stannis’ care, but memories of his time in this house, in this tiny town, had quickly receded in Renly’s mind until they seemed like nothing more than a sun-soaked dream.

Grabbing his phone, Renly pulls up Brienne’s number and calls her. As he waits for her to pick up, he opens the dresser drawers one by one, coughing as dust floats up into his face. 

“Hi, Renly,” Brienne answers on the fourth ring. Renly can hear the buzz of voices behind her and knows he must have caught her just as she arrived at work. “How was your trip? I was worried when you didn’t call last night.” There’s no censure in her voice, just a hint of wary curiosity that stokes the guilt brewing in Renly’s gut.

“Ah, there was a storm,” he offers, “and then I had the bright idea to stop into the local bar, reunite with some of the natives. And the signal here is pretty bad, to be honest.” 

Brienne is quiet for a moment, and Renly can picture her biting her lower lip thoughtfully and nodding. “You should get a prepaid phone while you’re there. You might get better coverage,” she offers. Then, with a rush of breath, “And I could still drive down and help you get things in order. I know you said you’d be fine on your own, but …”

Renly pretends to consider it as he absent-mindedly runs his fingers over the inside of one drawer, still lined with old newspapers. “Brie, you’ve got what, three new gyms opening this summer?” His finger catches something peeking up from underneath the newspaper; he frowns, holding his phone between his shoulder and cheek as he works to pull a folded piece of lined paper out of its hiding place. “Everything’s okay. I’m going to hang out with some old friends, give this place a new coat of paint, and I’ll see you in September.”

Brienne sighs. “You’re right, you’re right. And speaking of work--” Another, heavier sigh. “I have to go. Some kind of incident in the pool. I’ll--I’ll call you later.”

“Sounds good.” Renly knows his voice has gone distant as he turns the paper he found over and over in one hand. “Love you, darling.”

“Love you too,” Brienne says, and then the phone goes dark, leaving Renly to his bit of mystery.

He sits back down on his bed and carefully unfolds the paper. He thinks it may be something he left behind--a note for the next potential occupant of the room, or maybe directions to the skin mags he had painstakingly buried in the woods before leaving--but the handwriting on the page isn’t his own. It’s sloppy, slanted, all over the lines meant to give it structure, and Renly’s heart constricts as he recognizes it.

Loras. Loras, who wrote with a doctor’s scrawl, who joked that only Renly could read it.

It’s harder to read now, a little faded, less familiar than it had been at one time. But Renly holds it in shaky hands and perseveres, a little thrill running up his spine as he realizes he can still read it. He doesn’t think on that.

“ _Ren_ ,” the note begins, because Loras was never much for pet names, no matter how much Renly had longed to be called _babe_ or _darling_. “ _I know you’re gone, and I fucking hate you for leaving. You should tell your brother to fuck off. What’s he ever done for you? What do you have out there that’s better than me?_ ”

Renly stops reading and looks up at the ceiling, at the water damaged off-white tiles. He used to stare at them after Loras had fallen asleep beside him; he liked to make patterns out of the water damage while he listened to Loras’ soft breathing. It had been almost unbearably hot on those nights, the two of them pressed close in that twin bed, even though they had stripped down to their boxers and opened the window wide to catch a breeze.

“ _You’re the one who started all the bullshit about forever, okay. I never asked but that’s what you answered with, because of those dumb-fuck pop songs about summer love and forever love and shit. And now you’re just fucking gone, now you’ve just fucking left, and Errol’s fucking lying about not having your new address_.”

Shit. Yes, Stannis had thought it would be for the best if Renly cut ties and looked to the future instead of the past; Stannis referred to everything even tangentially related to their parents as “the past,” as though to give it more than a cursory glance would bring back all the pain and confusion and loss of the months just after their parents’ deaths.But surely Grandpa had known where to reach them? Surely Stannis had given him their new address, if only out of a sense of familial duty.

Renly doesn’t blame Stanni for wanting him to forget Greenstone, not really; Renly had wanted to leave. Greenstone had changed him. No--Loras had changed him. The amorphous desires Renly had always felt growing up became something solid in Loras’ presence; Renly could no longer pretend he was straight when all he wanted to do was rub his cock against Loras’. And Renly had known, even then, how poorly Stannis would have taken the revelation that his youngest brother was gay; Stannis, his bookshelves lined with Calvinist literature, his religion staving off repressed trauma. Renly once thought that leaving Greenstone behind, leaving Loras behind, would be the end of everything. It wasn’t.

“ _I don’t know if you’ll ever see this_ ,” Loras’ letter concludes, “ _but if you do, fuck you. Fuck you and that shit car you could barely even fucking drive. Also you can’t fucking kiss. Tried to teach you all summer and you still can’t fucking manage it. It’s not rocket science, you giant cunt_.”

Well. Renly folds the paper back up and swallows heavily. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s hurt; somewhere, he’s sixteen-year-old Renly thrilling at the weight of Loras’ tongue in his mouth, he’s lost in all the heady revelations every kiss brings out, and he’s embarrassed that all the magic of their touches might have been lost on Loras.

Renly stares at the letter a bit longer, not quite sure what to do with it. Eventually he tucks it into a pocket of his suitcase, some sort of macabre souvenir to mark his homecoming. He remembers what Beth said last night: Loras would be at Guyard’s party, wouldn’t Renly like to come, wouldn’t Renly like to get caught up with all his friends from school?

He considers flaking, he really does. As he packs up Grandpa Estermont’s room and makes a list of improvements he’ll need to make to the house before putting it on the market, he tries to convince himself that there’s no need to dig up old wounds, no need to delve any deeper into the past. But Renly keeps wondering what Loras looks like now; does he still wear his hair long? Is he still slender, or has he gained weight? Are his eyes really as golden as Renly remembers, or was that just another youthful trick of the heart?

It’s a good two hours after sunset before Renly talks himself into going, forcing himself to start driving before he can change his mind again.

***

Margaery insists on going to the party with Loras, even though he tells his sister over and over that he only means to get a little drunk and watch Renly from afar. She clearly doesn’t believe him, and keeps up a steady stream of unwelcome commentary as she drives.

“You knew him for two years in high school,” she points out, her voice drowning out the Spotify playlist Loras had put on to distract her. “It was a high school crush. A fling. And he left.”

Loras stares resolutely out his window. “It was more than that, and you know it,” he mutters. Maybe Loras had been too young to truly call it love, but it had been something close; in fact, whatever he and Renly had so long ago is still the closest Loras has ever been to deep, true, romantic love. Or, at least, what he expects that sort of love to be.

The car slows as Margaery turns onto a gravel road. “I know he hurt you,” she says softly. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Loras doesn’t know what to say to that, because Renly keeps hurting him, over and over, all these years later; it hurts when Loras wakes up from a dream about Renly, a dream that makes him feel safe and wanted and … excited, as though the sun is lighting up his skin from beneath it. There are other dreams, too, more typical dreams that end with sticky sheets and a vague sense of shame, but Renly is still a quiet, comforting presence in the back of Loras’ mind. 

“Maybe you’ve built him up to be more than he is,” Margaery finally suggests, taking the last turn onto the dirt road leading up to Guyard’s family farm.

“This is a fine way to find out, then, isn’t it?” Loras snaps, and Margaery fixes him with a glare as she switches the ignition off. They leave the car parked beside half a dozen others and begin to walk out into the fields, Margaery leading. 

They’re within earshot of the party when Margaery turns around, and in the fading sunset, her brown eyes are hard. “Find me when you’re ready to leave. If I’m plastered, I’ll find us a designated driver.” She catches sight of a clump of friends and shouts to announce her arrival; then she’s off, and Loras knows he’s well and truly annoyed her if she’s abandoned him this early.

So Loras mixes with a group of old acquaintances around the alcohol table, pouring anything he can get his hands on into a cocktail that will hopefully be strong enough to numb him. He joins in on the beer pong for a bit, helps the guys light off some fireworks, and then, when Renly still hasn’t shown up, Loras makes his way to the treeline, finds a log to lean against, and watches the stars as he nurses his latest drink.

****

To Renly, Guyard’s party looks exactly like every party he threw in high school. The centerpiece is a great bonfire, blazing up into the sky; a grill sits near a table packed with bottles of alcohol, and a few feet away are two more tables, these set up for beer pong. Further out, toward the tree line, is a line of cheap tents for the partygoers to crash in later.

“Renly!” 

Renly’s halfway from his car to the bonfire when Guyard finds him and throws an arm around him. Guyard’s gotten heavier, his sturdy frame chubby now, but in a country-boy way that suits him. Renly laughs as he shrugs Guyard off.

“You recognized me quickly enough!” Renly exclaims, and then there’s a red Solo cup in his hand, and he sniffs it, that familiar harsh scent of vodka mixed with-- “Oh God, not that green apple Schnapps,” he groans, and Guyard laughs hysterically.

“Beth said you weren’t much for that anymore!” Guyard informs him. “But I figured, once a pussy, always a pussy--”

Renly shoves Guyard hard with his shoulder, but they’re both laughing now, and Renly downs half his drink in one gulp. 

Guyard leads Renly around the party, reintroducing him to people Renly hasn’t seen since high school--Zia Frey, still shy, hiding her blush behind her drink when Renly grins at her; Emmon, sporting a soul patch and a backwards visor and confirming Renly’s suspicion that Greenstone is at least two decades behind the real world; Bryce, his red hair receding alarmingly, shouting for Renly to join his beer pong team.

Renly’s a good two vodka tonics and three beer pong wins into the evening before he even sees Loras; Renly wanders off into the woods to piss, and as he walks back toward the beer pong tables, there’s Loras, sitting off to the side of one of the tents set up back by the tree line. Renly nearly trips over his feet, unsure whether to run or stop and say --

Say what? Hello? How are you? Did you really think my kissing was shit or did you just want to piss me off?

Renly takes a deep breath and sits down next to Loras, slightly shocked when Loras doesn’t pull away. He expects an outburst by way of acknowledgement, but when he looks over, Loras is smiling inscrutably.

On closer inspection, it’s something of a sweet smile, maybe a little wistful, but Renly can’t quite tell in the low light. The silence between them is more comfortable than Renly had thought it would be; companionable, not confrontational. 

“I heard you were back, but I didn’t believe it.” Loras takes a swig of the drink in his hand, and his eyes, when they meet Renly’s, are as cloudy as Renly imagines his own are. “It’s been awhile, huh?”

Renly knocks one elbow against Loras’ arm. “A little bit, yeah. I’m sorry, you know--”

Loras sighs heavily. “Don’t. Please don’t. It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, but ...” Renly lets the sentence trail off. “I’m getting Grandpa’s house ready to sell.”

“Mmmhmm,” Loras murmurs, lifting his cup to take another drink. He’s still watching Renly, his head tilted to one side as though he doesn’t know quite what to do.

“I found something in one of my dresser drawers this morning.” Renly nudges Loras’ shoulder. “You left me a letter, huh?”

Loras closes his eyes and grimaces, but there’s still a hint of a smile on his face. “I did, in fact, leave you a letter,” he says, slurring his words just a little. “I was very angry when I did that. Your grandpa wouldn’t give me your address, he lied and said he didn’t even have it.”

Renly frowns and rubs his forehead. “He might have been telling the truth.” And then, not wanting to think too hard on the idea that maybe Stannis hadn’t given Grandpa Estermont that information after all, “Was I really a bad kisser?”

Loras laughs, loud and clear, tossing his head back so Renly can see the smooth, long lines of his neck, the soft hollow at his throat. Loras shakes his head and meets Renly’s eyes after a moment. “I just wanted to hurt you,” he admits. “I thought that was kind of obvious.” He winks. “I would have told you right away if you were a bad kisser.”

“Remember,” Renly says slowly, and Loras leans in to hear him better, “remember when we stole that bottle of Schnapps and drank it all in the woods?”

Loras shifts closer and chuckles, looking down at his hand and his drink. “You kissed me,” he recounts. “You kissed me and that was--”

“--better than the alcohol,” Renly finishes for him, an unexpectedly fond smile on his face. “That’s what you told me after you finished pawing me up against a tree.”

“Pawing you?” Loras feigns offense and pretends to glower at Renly. “Your hands were in there too. I wasn’t alone in the pawing.” 

“Okay,” Renly admits, giggling at the look on Loras’ face, “there was definitely some mutual pawing.” He can’t stop looking at Loras’ lips suddenly, and he wants to prove to himself, definitively, that he’s not a bad kisser. Renly leans forward, his nose brushing Loras’, and Loras doesn’t pull away; instead, his breath hitches, and Renly presses his lips to Loras’.

It’s better than Renly remembers, even through the taste of vodka in Loras’ mouth, even though their teeth clack together at first. But then Loras lets out the softest little moan, a low, heartfelt sound, and suddenly the kiss is a thunderstorm in Renly’s blood, it’s the wind whipping wild and uncertain in his heart, it’s his skin sparking with lightning and his head buzzing with the song of cicadas.

It’s Loras, and it’s Renly, and it’s Greenstone all around them, and Renly feels suddenly as though he is truly, irrevocably home. Renly slides one arm around Loras to tilt him closer, reaches up to tangle his other hand in Loras’ curls. Loras gasps into Renly’s mouth, his hands coming up to rest on either side of Renly’s neck, and everything is somehow muted but electric, like being cocooned in blankets but also like walking a tightrope high in the air, moving against the wind.

And then Loras breaks the kiss and slides his hands down Renly’s chest to gently push Renly away, He’s breathing heavily, his brow furrowed, and Renly doesn’t have time to ask what’s wrong before Loras stands clumsily and starts to walk away.

“I have to -- I have to go,” Loras says, gesturing back at the bonfire with his cup. “It’s -- it’s Margaery, I’m sure she’s ready to go, and I --”

“It’s cool. It’s okay.” Renly gets up and starts to follow Loras back to the party. “If you want, you could come over tomorrow, help me start picking paint swatches for the dining room.” 

Loras pauses, stares at his feet. Then, “I’ll think about it.” He takes off again, walking quickly enough that Renly can tell he doesn’t want to be followed. Renly sighs heavily as he watches Loras disappear, then sets his own sights on another glass of vodka, hoping maybe he can disappear as well.

⚘⚘


End file.
